


no man could best me, ever

by tigriswolf



Series: Serial Killer AUs [7]
Category: CSI: Miami, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Backstory, Dark, F/M, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no demons or angels, only human evil.  Mary Campbell was a dangerous girl, and she grew into a terrifying woman.  Her husband, her sons... serial killers and mass murderers, and there is no redemption.</p><p>   <i>Family before everything. They hurt us, they insult us, they try to separate us — they die.</i></p><p> </p><p>[will never be finished]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: no man could best me, ever  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun. Title from Sojourner Truth.  
> Warnings: very much AU; dark; character deaths  
> Pairings: John/Mary; Henriksen/OFC  
> Rating: R  
> Wordcount: 1840  
> Point of view: third

They first caught national attention when the entire population of a nursing home was found dead. All one hundred and twelve residents, plus fourteen members of the staff — it was a peaceful death, at least. There were no signs of a struggle, except with one woman: Deanna Campbell.

The FBI was brought in and it became their case. Deanna Campbell’s past was dug into, every secret of her life laid bare.

Twenty years before, she survived a brutal attack that left her husband, Samuel, dead and her daughter, Mary, missing. Once she recovered, she went into the home and never left.

“I think it was John Winchester,” a junior agent, Henriksen, told his superior. “He was dating the daughter. He failed to kill Deanna the first time, so he came back.”

“We’ll check every lead, Henriksen,” the superior agent told him. “But see what you can find on Winchester.”

There wasn’t much: he’d been a marine, came back, dated Mary Campbell, and then they both vanished after Samuel’s murder. So Henriksen theorized Mary to be the mastermind and she ran off with him.

Henriksen tried recreating the twenty years since that night — Samuel Campbell stabbed in his home, Deanna beaten within an inch of her life, and Mary gone.

Deanna never named an attacker. She sobbed once for her daughter and then never mentioned that night or her family again.

“They were working together,” Henriksen told his supervisor. “Had to be.”

“But is there any other evidence they killed all those people?” his supervisor asked.

Henriksen deflated. “No.”

.

A second attack happened at a junior high school, leaving three teachers dead and dozens of kids scarred for life.

“It was Dean Tyler,” a surviving teacher said, trembling in her hospital bed. “And his parents.” She sobbed, her husband holding her tight. “Oh, God, I’ve never seen anything—”

“Ma’am,” Henriksen asked. “Can you describe what happened? Take your time. Any detail, no matter how small, can help.”

It took hours before she calmed enough to be understandable and Henriksen wrote down every word.

“A fourteen year old,” he explained to his superior. “Dean Tyler, son of John and Mary Tyler. He’s been a student at the school for three months. He’s been in constant trouble, while somehow maintaining steady As, and talking to his parents did no good. There’s a younger brother, Sam, a prodigy — one of the victims, Hannah Collins, noted that the brother might be part of the problem. Not enough attention going around at home, so the boy was lashing out when his grades weren’t good enough.” He snorted. “They were perfect, though, so why the parents couldn’t show him—anyway.”

Henriksen took a deep breath. “The kid, Dean, killed the first teacher with a pencil. Stabbed her in the eye while she checked his homework. Then Mary entered and shot through the connecting door — which was open — into the next room and killed the second. The third was found later, throat slit.”

The supervisor sighed. “I’m guessing the names aren’t a coincidence.”

Henriksen shook his head. “It’s them, Boss. They killed Samuel Campbell, then came back for Deanna. And now they’ve got their kid involved.”

“What about the brother?” The supervisor looked down at the pictures. “Was he involved?”

“Not to anyone’s knowledge. The entire family’s gone, though.”

.

Henriksen combed through Dean and Sam Tyler’s school records. They were both good students, though Sam’s grades indicated a fast-track to any college he wanted. Dean had a history of fights that left other kids with broken bones. A few kids had reported Sam as being ‘savage’ but teachers only praised him and besides the students’ testimony, there was no evidence, so Henriksen discarded it.

The Tylers vanished. Henriksen was reassigned but always kept an eye out. Three years after the attack at the school, he proposed to Roxanne and they got married. He almost forgot the Tyler family.

But then the third attack happened in a crowded Los Angeles mall and the security cameras caught all four on film.

Once they were identified, Henriksen got brought in. He studied every minute of the footage: the eldest of the three men, tall, broad, and dark; the woman, pale and flowing hair, clearly in charge of the other three; the second man, laughing as he killed, too beautiful; and the youngest, still not fully grown, silent and quick and savage.

Henriksen watched the footage a dozen times, seeing something new in each viewing. The Tylers rocketed to the top of every list.

A survivor from the mall shed light on what caused the attack: incorrect change for a meal at the food court.

But again, like they were ghosts, the Tylers vanished.

Roxanne told him to take a break, so they went on vacation. At the beach, as they made love, she whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

.

Roxanne gave birth in the spring to a healthy baby girl. They named her Adrienne. Henriksen’s immediate supervisor retired and he got promoted again.

And the Tylers resurfaced in New York—or rather, the elder son, Dean. He worked his way through two dozen prostitutes before getting caught and Henriksen was able to talk to him.

“Your parents,” Henriksen asked. “They love you?”

Dean smirked. “More than life.”

Henriksen studied him: Dean was only twenty-one, if that, and the most beautiful man Henriksen had ever seen. “You enjoy killin’, Dean?”

Dean settled back in the chair, ignoring the handcuffs and shackles; they could be chatting at a coffee shop for all the concern he showed. “It passes the time.”

Looking in his eyes, Henriksen wanted to shudder. He had seen this man on film, laughing as he slaughtered people he’d never before met. “You’re wanted in three states, including this one. The lawyers are battling it out. There’s no way you’ll get less than death-row, and no chance of a plea bargain to a lesser charge.”

Again, Dean smirked, looking comfortable, looking no more evil than a kid on spring break. Henriksen knew he was personally responsible for at least thirty deaths, but the man was still so damned _charming_ —

“If you say so, Vic,” Dean drawled, looking up at him through those too-long lashes.  
Henriksen nearly fled the room, he got out of there so fast. “Put him in solitary,” he told the cops. “Some of my people will be down within the hour to take him into custody. No one goes in alone.”

In hindsight, Henriksen knew he should have seen it coming.

.

One day after being arrested, Dean vanished from police custody. A gruff, no-nonsense older FBI agent had come to collect him, with an apparently terrifying blonde woman his partner. Her manner was so harsh and cold none of the police questioned her, even the chief. But when the _real_ FBI showed up… well.

Henriksen went apocalyptic. Only his boss threatening to send him on forced leave got him to calm down.

Roxanne made him go on vacation anyway. He spent two weeks with his wife and daughter, trying to forget Dean. The man — in age, a boy — had no conscience, no human emotions… had they been trained out of him by those monsters of parents, or was he born that way?

No, no. With Roxanne and Adrienne, he left work behind, became only the husband and father.

.

A few months later, at the office, he got a letter with no return address. He didn’t recognize the handwriting, but the signature — he shivered. 

_We’re leaving, Agent Henriksen_ , the last paragraph read. _It’s gotten boring here. A whole world is waiting for us. Don’t worry, though — we’ll be back, I promise._

It was signed simply _Dean._

After he took the letter to forensics, knowing it was futile, he went to the cafeteria and bought coffee. He was still shaking.

“Agent,” a quiet voice said. He looked up and didn’t recognize the woman settling across from him — at first. Her hair was slightly darker, she wore a dark blue shirt, and her eyes…

“Mary Tyler.” His whole body tightened; his gun was upstairs.

“Don’t call for help, Agent,” she said. “I’m here to talk, not kill.” Her eyes flicked to the left and he followed her gaze: John stood there, leaning against the wall, flipping through a gun magazine. “But I will kill if I must.”

Just as beautiful as her son, he noted, studying her. And even more evil.

“You feel no guilt at all, do you?” he asked. “What you’ve done to your sons.”

She smiled. “I’ve come to tell you, Agent that we could kill you at anytime. You, your pretty wife, your adorable daughter — life is a fragile thing, and so easily broken.”

He tensed, staring into her huge hazel eyes. She smiled again.

“But my son likes you, Victor,” she continued. “I don’t know why; from what I’ve seen, he could do better.” She leaned forward, placing one dainty hand on his wrist. “I’m simply here to tell you — if you hurt him, your daughter’s eviscerated corpse will never be found.” She grinned up at him, teeth bared. “Do you understand?”

He nodded, jerkily. She pulled back and asked, “Any questions, Agent?”

“Why did you kill your parents?” He stared down at the table. “Twenty years apart — why not at the same time?”

Her laughter, dark and throaty, made him look up. Her eyes were to the left, on her partner. “Daddy never approved of John,” she explained. “He told me that if John came around again, he’d kill him.” She shrugged, offering him an innocent smile. “I couldn’t allow that, could I?” She reached out, viper-quick, and grabbed his coffee. “Mama wasn’t meant to survive; it was my first attempt. I thought she died.”

Mary sipped his coffee, sighing as she lowered the cup. “John takes his the same way.” She patted his arm, giving back the coffee. “We’re leavin’ for awhile, Agent Henriksen.”

She stood and John moved to her back. Henriksen watched them go. They strode like they belonged, regal and dangerous. Once they left the cafeteria, he sounded the alarm.

.

Henriksen quit the Bureau and moved his family to Florida. He’d always had a knack for numbers, so he went back to school and became an accountant. He didn’t watch the news and only got a newspaper for the comics.

He had nightmares about huge hazel eyes and dark blonde hair, about evil with a beautiful face.

It was Adrienne’s eighth birthday when news of the attack at Disneyworld broke across the country.

Henriksen clutched his daughter close while Roxanne flipped channels, a hand covering her mouth in horror.

“Pure, undiluted evil,” he muttered. “No conscience at all.” But he’d had a mostly civil conversation with the mastermind, the leader. And Dean liked him. Maybe he could get close enough, take them out.

“Roxanne,” he said. “Take Adrienne and drive. Don’t go anywhere you’ve been before — just drive.”

She looked him in the eye. “What’re you gonna do, Vic?”

He kissed her, then his baby girl, saw them off and went to find his gun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: John/Mary, hints of Sam/Dean
> 
> Rating: R
> 
> Point of view: third
> 
> Wordcount: 1660

Dean learned how to kill by watching his mother reel in one of the neighborhood widows. She lowered her gaze, hesitantly asking for the old woman’s help in cooking a good supper for her men.

The widow had been gossiping around the block, calling Mama a whore, saying Daddy was too good for her, and that Dean was clearly another man’s bastard.

The old gray-haired harpy came home with them and Dean followed Mama’s motions with wide eyes as she brained the woman with a frying pan and then dragged her to the laundry room.

“Dean,” Mama said, offering him a thin blade. “Family before everythin’, baby. Understand?”

He took the hilt, curled his fingers around it, and Mom’s hand guided him to the evil old biddy’s throat.

.

Sam learned how to kill at his father’s knee, watching Daddy carve up the mean store-manager who slapped Dean for shoplifting.

“Family before everythin’,” Daddy told him, slicing the man from his Adam’s apple to his belly button. “You understand, Sammy?”

Sam nodded and was about to take the knife when Mama called them to supper.

.

Family before everything, his parents always said. They hurt us, they insult us, they try to separate us — they die.

Mom and Dad told him to watch out for Sammy, to keep him safe. They’d both been taught to fight, but Sammy was little, younger. And Dean took his responsibility very seriously.

When Dean was seven, a teacher asked about his home life. He had a bruise on his arm where Daddy had pulled him way from the stove. Sammy had a black-eye from falling off a chair. The teacher asked if Mama or Daddy hurt them. He didn’t answer her questions and he couldn’t find Sammy after school.

He met Mama at carpool, sobbing. Mama picked him up even though he was too big and stormed to the preschool. They found Sammy howling for Mama and Daddy and Dean. Mama demanded to know just what the principal thought she was doing and the mean teacher said something about _concerns_ and _welfare_. Mama scoffed and put Dean down to pick Sam up. She stormed out with Dean at her side.

“Time to go,” she told Daddy at home. “They tried to take Sammy away.”

Daddy packed while Mama comforted Sammy. Dean sat next to Mama, rubbing his hand up and down Sammy’s back. 

That mean teacher needed to pay. Mama and Daddy were busy, so Dean snuck out and walked to the bus stop. He’d find her and punish her.

Mama and Daddy always said _Family before everything_. No one made Sammy cry.

.

Sam watched Mom and Dad hunt together, kill together — they were beautiful. He wanted someone to be his partner, his equal.

When he was ten, Dean and Mom took out two of the teacher who’d been trying to make trouble, talking about calling the cops and having Dean taken away. Sam made his move while Mom and Dean had everyone’s attention; Coach Colter had been watching Dean with hungry eyes. Sam had seen the plan forming, the desire hardening his cock. _Family before everything_ , and no one would ever touch his brother.

Dad smiled at Sam when they met up again, tousled his hair. “How’d your first solo kill go?” he asked.

Dean crowed, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “You’re a man now, lil’brother!”

Mom smiled and kissed his forehead. “You pick dinner tonight, baby,” she said.

Satisfaction mingled with pleasure and Sam wanted to kill again — but this time, he wanted Dean to kill with him.

.

Dean was sixteen when Sam came home and said, “She has to die.”

Dean had skipped that day because of a fever. “Who?” he asked coughing so hard it hurt.

Sam got him a glass of water. “Kate Hapshaw.” He took the empty glass back. “She is such a bitch!”

Trying to place the name, Dean lay back on the couch. “The hot senior? What’d she do?”

Sam growled. “She got ahold of my records and accused me of cheating!”

Dean blinked at him. “She did _what_?” That was just stupid. Sam had always been the smartest person Dean ever met.

“She accused me of cheating!” Sam yelled. “I took a senior math test ’cause I was bored and did better than her.”

“Wait till I’m better, Sammy,” Dean muttered, about to slip back into sleep. “We’ll show that bitch what-for.”

Kate Hapshaw was their first kill together. Mom and Dad took them to a fancy restaurant and let Dean have a glass of wine. Sam got a big piece of red velvet cake.

“I’m so proud of you boys,” Mom said, tears in her eyes. “My babies becoming men.”

Dean shared a smile with Sam. He could barely wait to kill again — with Sammy.

.

When Sam was fifteen Dean brought home a friend from his work at the garage. The friend was blond and blue-eyed and built — and Sam hated him on sight. Dean and Keith spent all afternoon drinking beer and talking about girls. Dean even invited Keith to supper — his time with Sam, since Mom and Dad were out of town on business.

Sam glowered throughout the meal — Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes he’d made himself, usually a meal he and Dean cooked together — and didn’t say more than two words. Dean didn’t seem to notice; he kept his eyes on Keith, laughing and smiling and flirting.

And then, while Sam was banging around the kitchen cleaning up, he heard Dean say, “Hey, Keith, you ever been to that spot in the woods? They say it’s haunted. I think we should check it out.”

“Okay, man,” Keith said. “Sounds like fun.”

Dean popped into the kitchen to tell Sam, “We’re goin’ to that spot in the woods, Sammy.”

Sam grinned as Dean winked and then led Keith out.

Shit, his brother was twisted. Man, did Sam love him.

Keith was a good-looking guy, handsome enough to catch Dean’s eye. Sam would have fun making him bleed, and beg, and break.

.

Dean was twenty-one when he realized he wanted to go solo for awhile. Sam was finishing up high-school; Mom and Dad were acting like they were on their second honeymoon. Dean had nothing to do, so he left. He went to New York and played with a whole bushel of women before the police ended his fun.

Agent Henriksen was very earnest and solemn, but he never had a chance of breaking Dean. He asked questions like he expected truth; he only surprised Dean once, when he asked out of left field, “Your parents, they love you?”

“More than life,” he answered, hiding the shock behind a smirk. He sprawled back in the chair, trying to get comfortable in spite of the shackles.

Mom and Dad probably already knew he’d been arrested. He’d give them till he was transferred to get him out and then he’d escape on his own.

“You enjoy killing?” Henriksen asked next.

Dean gave him, “It passes the time.” How could he explain the sheer joy he felt in taking a life, in making others hurt? Henriksen wouldn’t understand.

“You’re wanted in three states, including this one,” Henriksen said. “The lawyers are battling it out. There’s no way you’ll get less than death-row, and no chance of a plea bargain to a lesser charge.” His voice was soft and sure.

Dean wanted to play with him. This straight-laced FBI goon could be a lot of fun. So he flirted, purred, “If you say so, Vic.” He held in his laughter as Henriksen fled the room.

A few hours passed; Dean kept from being bored by listing all his kills in chronological order. He was escorted to solitary and left alone until the FBI came for him.

He offered no resistance and went docilely, waiting to howl with mirth till the station was only a dot in the distance.

“Dean,” Mom scolded, twisting in the seat to glare at him. “You need to be more careful, honey.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he said meekly.

“Sam’s waiting to tear you a new one,” Dad told him. “He’s pretty pissed at you, son.”

“After he graduates, I’ll take him backpacking in Europe.” Dean had been considering it for a while — him, Sammy, the countryside… all those people to play with.

“How’d the authorities treat you?” Mom demanded.

“Well, the cops roughed me up some, but I was a smart-ass.” He looked out the window. “The agent, Henriksen — he was fun.”

“Do we need to kill any of them?” Dad asked.

Dean shook his head. “It’ll mess with their heads more to let them live.”

.

After Sam graduated, he and Dean headed for the east coast. They waited in Atlanta for Mom and Dad to catch up; Dean wrote Henriksen a little note just to mark the occasion. Sam wasn’t sure that was so smart, but Dean insisted. Once they were all together, they took a flight to Paris. Mom kissed them both, crying all the while, and Dad pulled them into big bear hugs.

“Take care of each other,” Dad told them. “Family before everything.”

Mom touched their faces. “If you get into any trouble, call,” she said. “We’ll come.”

“We’ll be safe, Mom,” Dean assured her. “I’ll watch out for Sam.”

Sam nodded. “And I’ll keep Dean out of trouble.”

Dean reached up those few precious inches Sam had on him and ruffled his hair.

Mom laughed tearfully and Dad nodded to them before gently pulling her away. Sam watched them go with relief; he loved them fiercely, but he was so very tired of sharing Dean. Now it’d just be the two of them with a whole continent spread before them, no rules, no constraints.

“Let’s shag ass,” Dean said. Sam grinned and followed him.

Europe. Just him and Dean and a world completely unprepared. “Wanna paint the town red?” he asked and Dean laughed.

“Hell yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: AU; dark!Winchesters
> 
> Pairings: John/Mary
> 
> Rating: R
> 
> Wordcount: 1890
> 
> Point of view: third

There had always been something slightly off in Mary Campbell. She charmed adults with her huge hazel eyes and long blonde hair, but other children shied away from her. To them, she was a predator and their instincts screamed to flee.

Her first boyfriend was Nathan Pruitt in seventh grade. He came in new just after Christmas. He was tall, barely beginning to fill out, with red hair and brown eyes. He was funny and nice and he followed Mary around like a puppy. She was popular because the other students were terrified of her; rumors circulated of people she didn’t like having accidents. Everyone did what she said and adults, from little old ladies at the supermarket to the crazy drunk in the park, loved her. She had all the teachers eating out of her hand.

Nathan was warned about Mary, but he laughed it off. She was petite and beautiful and had a lovely smile. He ate lunch beside her, walked her to and from class whenever possible, bought her jewelry and books.

“He seems like a nice boy, dear,” Mom said.

Mary smiled and nodded. “He’ll do,” she responded.

Nathan Pruitt vanished just before Easter break. The police searched but there was no evidence of any foul play, so they decided he’d run away.

The kids knew better.

.

John Winchester sauntered into Mary’s life her senior year of high-school. He had a roguish grin and broad shoulders. He’d been to war and knew how to kill; he could take apart an engine and put it back together. Her father hated him on sight.

“He’s dangerous, baby,” Dad said. “You could find a better man. A man with a future.”

Mary was fascinated with John. She’d grown bored in Lawrence, run out of ways to have fun. And John — he was new, different. Like Dad grumbled, John was dangerous.

But so was Mary.

She spent the final months of high-school with John, driving around in his gorgeous monster of a car, talking about life and death and the future.

Beneath a full moon, stretched out on a blanket in the woods, in the same place she’d brought Nathan, Mary said, “I killed a boy here.”

John kissed her forehead. “Did he deserve it?”

Mary chuckled, slipping her hand into his shirt. “He thought he was good enough to be my first.”

Pulling back slightly to meet her gaze, John asked, “But he _was_ your first?”

She grinned up at him. “My first human kill.”

John kissed her and whispered, “Marry me, love.”

Beneath the full moon, the night of graduation, Mary Campbell gave John Winchester her virginity and her heart. Three days later, they killed her father, left her mother for dead, and drove out of town.

.

They settled in Boise. John got work at a garage and Mary as a clerk at a supermarket. They lived in a small apartment and spoke of the future and plans and babies.

Mary played games with her coworkers, pitting them against each other. She laughed about it with John and every night he asked, “You’re happy, love?” She always answered with a kiss.

Two years passed before they killed again. Mary was content with psychological torture, with tormenting minds, and John was happy if she was. But then the store manager tried to force her into sex by threatening her job and John. 

She pretended to cry in fear, but they were tears of fury. She went home with him and waited till he was distracted, then struck. Once he was unconscious, she called John. He arrived within ten minutes, and by that time, Mary had dragged the bastard to the basement and trussed him up with bungee-cord she’d found.

“He wanted to fuck me,” Mary told her husband. “He threatened to have you beaten, if not killed.”

John’s anger was glorious and they ripped the man apart.

Once they had exhausted their passion, John dealt with the corpse and Mary cleaned the bathroom, then they went out for pizza. They lived in Boise for three more months before leaving.

.

They traveled for the next six years, living in a dozen places. But something always happened that resulted in people dying and they’d move on.

In Phoenix, Mary told John she was pregnant and they settled in to stay. She gave birth in January to a beautiful son. “Let’s name him for my mother,” Mary said. 

John raised an eyebrow. “Your mother?”

Mary smiled down at their boy. “He looks like a _Dean_ , doesn’t he?”

Chuckling, John shrugged. “If you want, love.”

.

They lived in Phoenix until Dean was three. That was the year Mary killed a shriveled-up old harpy bitch who dared say Dean wasn’t John’s son and that John could do better.

Dean watched with wide, fascinated eyes as Mary handed him the knife. “Family before everything, sweetie,” she said, enfolding his small hand in hers and guiding him. “If they hurt us, threaten us, or insult us, they pay.”

He nodded and made clever designs with the spilled blood.

.

In Boston, Mary gave birth to Sammy, named for the father whose throat she slit. John laughed and called her disturbed.

“Dean,” Mary told her elder darling, “you have to watch out for him. Protect him. Family before everything.”

.

As the boys grew, Mary tried to stay in one place as long as possible. Her sons were beautiful, born to kill. John taught them to hide their hunts and Mary showed them how to channel their desire into masterpieces of death.

There were only two rules in the Winchester household: family before everything and no indiscriminate killing.

They all broke the second rule a few times — when John and Mary took the nursing home her mother had been hiding in, and then at the Los Angeles mall that once. Sam was barely sixteen, Dean had just turned twenty, and Mary hadn’t killed anyone with her own hands since she strangled her mother. 

So when the little worker-bee shorted her two dollars, Mary took at that as an insult to her intellect and slashed his throat with her favorite knife, and her men followed her — like always — with glee.  
.

After she and John took Dean from the police, Mary wanted to visit Agent Henriksen, to make sure he was good enough for her darling boy. But Sam had a mere three months left of high-school and they’d long planned a trip out of the country.

“We’ll vacation in Paris,” John told her. “Visit the major land marks, eat fancy every night. The boys can do whatever they want, sow their wild oats.”

“Sounds fun,” Mary said. “I can’t believe they’re all grown-up. Just yesterday, Dean was small enough to pick up, to tuck in.” She sniffed and John pulled her into his arms.

“We’ll put the fear of Winchester into that spook,” John promised. “Soon as Sammy’s graduated. And then, love, we’ll go somewhere new and hunt.”

She kissed him, biting his lip, and whispered, “I love you.”

He swept her up and carried her to bed.

.

Mary waited in the cafeteria of the FBI headquarters in Washington DC. John blended in against the wall. He didn’t want to be here; he preferred out-and-out killing to the mindgames Mary and their sons reveled in. But he refused to let her come alone, or to let their boys set foot in the building. She had to admit, admiring her man, that he did look far more threatening than she had ever managed.

Men just never believed a little blonde could be dangerous, even as she killed them.

Henriksen stormed in, looking shell-shocked, and Mary knew he’d found the letter John had left on his desk. She waited till he fell into a chair, mainlining his coffee, and then she sauntered over.

“Agent,” she said softly, settling across from him. 

He looked up and stared at her for a moment before his eyes widened. “Mary Tyler,” he said, and that was a name they hadn’t used in years. She saw him tense, preparing to do something stupid.

“Don’t call for help, Agent,” she warned. “I’m here to talk, not kill.” She flicked her gaze to John and Henriksen followed her eyes. “But,” she finished, “I will kill if I must.”

How she wanted to kill, to destroy this place, all these men and women who were a threat to her family.

He asked, “You feel no guilt at all, do you? What you’ve done to your sons.”

Dean was right; this man asked hard questions. She smiled — she’d given her sons enduring strength, a pleasure that would never run out. “I’ve come to tell you, Agent, that we could kill you at any time. You, your pretty wife, your adorable daughter — life is a fragile thing,” she murmured, meeting his horror-filled eyes, “and so easily broken.”

Dean could have fun with the wife, would even make her like it. And the daughter — oh, Sam, could make a masterpiece with her.

Henriksen stared at her and she delighted in his terror.

“But,” she continued, smiling when he flinched, “my son likes you, Victor.” He flinched again. “I don’t know why; from what I’ve seen, he could do better.” Mary leaned forward and patted his hand, then curled her fingers around his wrist. “I’m simply here to tell you — if you hurt him, your daughter’s eviscerated corpse will never be found.” She would carve up the girl herself and leave the wide brown eyes on his kitchen table.

Mary bared her teeth in what could almost be called a grin. “Do you understand?”

He nodded. She patted his hand again before pulling back. She gave him a moment to compose himself before asking, “Any questions, Agent?”

Henriksen lowered his gaze and said, “Why did you kill your parents? Twenty years apart — why not at the same time?”

It surprised laughter out of her. This man was just as much fun as Dean claimed, and that reason alone earned him some measure of the truth. “Daddy never approved of John. He told me that if John came around again, he’d kill him.” She shrugged and gave him the _aw-shucks, ma’am_ smile both of her sons had inherited. “I couldn’t allow that, could I?” She snagged his coffee. “Mama wasn’t meant to survive,” she lied. “It was my first attempt. I thought she died.” Mom had been kind to John, too kind. Tried to take him from Mary. So Mary had John beat her and leave her alive, a fate worse than death. And it took twenty years before Mom gained the courage to speak, so Mary came back.

She sipped his coffee, savoring the taste. “John takes his the same way,” she commented, giving him back the styrofoam cup and touching his arm.

Mary stood and John immediately came over. She strode out like a queen — confidence had never been hard for her.

The boys waited in Atlanta, with four first-class tickets to Paris. John took her hand and raised it to his lips. “You are amazing,” he said. “Best decision of my life.”

She smiled up at him. “You can show me across the sea,” she said. “Lots of things I want to try.”

He chuckled and held the door, followed her out of the FBI headquarters and into the searing sunlight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unfinished. I totally lost all desire to write this story during this chapter. Still don't know why.

The first time John Winchester killed a man was not in Vietnam. He was twelve and he killed his father’s brother with a steak knife. Uncle David liked playing rough and touching places on boys he shouldn’t, and John didn’t care when it was him, but Uncle David started leering at Mark, and that would not be allowed.

He and Uncle David were home alone while Dad and Mark went fishing and Mom was visiting Grandma. John made sure Uncle David knew why and then stabbed him in the throat. Once Uncle David bled out, he arranged it to look like an interrupted robbery and went upstairs.

When he screamed and ran to the neighbor’s house, talking too fast to be understood and covered in blood, everyone bought it. After all, John Winchester was such a sweet, polite boy.

.

He didn’t kill again until the Marine Corps paid him for it and it was just as much fun as he remembered. When they finally sent him home he was decorated war hero, adored and respected. He spent a month with his folks and Mark before the urge to make someone bleed welled up, hot and sharp, so he left. He loved Mom and Dad, and worshipped Mark, and he never wanted to hurt them, ever. Better to leave.

John wandered through towns, looking for someone to hurt. He sat at bars, waiting for somebody to pick a fight. He didn’t kill them, but left them crying on the ground, barely alive, and it was enough.

Then he met Mary.

.

Mary Campbell was beautiful and funny and so very dangerous. She was cold and savage where he was rough and ruthless. They were the same age, though he felt older, and when she smiled, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

It was a Friday, his third night in Lawrence, and he was at a diner, thinking about whether to get fried chicken or a hamburger. He’d just about made up his mind — he had chicken the night before — when he glanced up and met the huge hazel eyes of a beautiful blonde. She was on the arm of some jock and she smiled as they went by.

John ate his supper and left a large tip. He wandered through Lawrence, his car back at the diner. He wanted to hurt someone, preferably that jock. So when he ran into the kid coming out of a bar just after midnight, he decided it was providence.

.

On Sunday, a body was found outside of town. Looked like he’d been beaten, carved, and left for dead. As a drifter who’d been seen fighting Jake Wilson, John was brought in and questioned, but his good ole’ boy charm got him off the list pretty quick.

He was told not to leave town, but until he saw that pretty blonde again, he was going to. On Tuesday afternoon, as he worked on his Impala, he heard someone walk up behind him and then a soft female voice said, “I owe you some thanks.”

He straightened and turned to face the girl from the diner.

“You made it easier to restrain him,” she said, smiling. “Though, that also made it less fun.”

He studied her, long blonde curls and huge hazel eyes and plump pink lips. She waited him out, just blinking those long lashes innocently up at him.

“John Winchester,” he said suddenly, holding out a hand. He smirked when she startled a little.

“Mary Campbell,” she replied, taking his hand in her much smaller, though calloused, one and grinning.

.

They were inseparable for the next few months. They told each other their hunting stories and danced and watched movies and lay together beneath the stars.

She took him to a spot in the woods near her house, the night of her graduation. She stretched out next to him and placed her head on his chest, one of her hands slipping into his shirt.

“I killed a boy here,” she whispered.

Unlike others, John had known from the moment he saw her how dangerous she could be. “Did he deserve it?”

Mary smiled. “He thought he was good enough to be my first.”

“And he _was_ your first?” John asked.

She leaned down to kiss him. “My first kill.”

That night they made love and John said, “Marry me.”

Mary nodded.

.

Mary’s dad hated John, he knew. Thought Mary could do better, which John knew to be true. But Mary’s mom kept touching him whenever he went to her house. Kept offering him drinks and cookies. Kept smiling at him.

Mary watched with cold, unforgiving eyes, and John knew that soon she would strike.

Three nights after graduation, Mary said, “It’s time.”

She took him to her house, her movements fluid and loose. They had talked about what their first kill together would be like, what they would do. On the porch, Mary kissed him and told him, “Love, do what I say.”

John nodded. “Followin’ your lead, babe.”

She smiled and opened the door.

Samuel Campbell died quickly, throat slit by Mary’s favorite knife. Mary told John, 

“Make Mom hurt, baby,” and so John did. 

They left town singing Zeppelin at the top of their lungs, laughing.

.

They went anywhere Mary wanted to go, stayed as long as they could before someone got themselves killed, and moved on.

In Phoenix, Mary gave birth to their first boy, named for her mother. In Boston, she had Sam, named for her father.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where the CSI Miami crossover happens. Tommy is played by Chris Pine with long hair and a lip-ring.

The kid catches Dean’s eye in lock-up, one fine afternoon. They’re in Miami; Mom and Dad’ll have him out in no time, if Sammy doesn’t beat them to him. Sam will kick his ass for getting caught, but it was so worth it.

Sam’s been filling out and soon, he might be able to take Dean in a fight. It’s kind of annoying that Dean is smaller than Dad and Sam both — Sam certainly takes delight in it.

Anyway. He’s in jail in Miami and there’s this kid, can’t be more than twenty. Maybe twenty-two. Only Sam’s age, and the thought of Sam stuck in some lock-up pisses Dean off. His little brother has never been caught, will _never_ be caught, not as long as Dean’s alive to take the blame. Which he always will.

“What’d you do?” he asks the kid, trying to calm down. If he attacks a guard(or that huge biker dude eyeing his boy — and when’d the kid become _his_ boy? Sammy won’t be happy with that —) he’ll just be placed somewhere more secure. 

The kid blinks at him, beautiful blue eyes as innocent as Sammy’s _would I do that?_ smile. After a moment of consideration, he says, “I killed my girlfriend because the sex got boring.”

“How’d you get caught?” Dean studies him, from the messy dark hair to the worn boots. He flushes a little from the attention and Dean smirks.

“I kissed her while I smothered her,” he admits. “It was stupid.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, buddy, that was pretty fuckin’ stupid.”

Now, the kid looks a little annoyed. His eyes narrow and his fists clench. He looks about ready to launch across the cell and try strangling Dean, which would be a very bad move. “Don’t, kid,” he says. “You won’t win.”

“Well, what’d you do to get in here?” the pretty boy demands, blue eyes flashing. “Couldn’t'a been that smart, seein’ as how you got caught.”

Dean smiles, slow and satisfied. “I killed a couple’a college kids.”

The kid studies him. “I’m Tommy,” he finally says.

Cocking his head, Dean thinks for a moment. Does he want to keep Tommy, pretty-boy, thrill-seeking murderer? Yeah, he kinda does.

“Dean Winchester,” he replies. “You’ll be comin’ with me when I bust out.”

Sammy’ll see, it’s more fun with a third. And hell, Mom'll probably want to feed the kid cookies.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I originally had an idea to continue this, where Dean, Sam, and Tommy found Sylar in the desert during Heroes season 2. That never happened, but it was fun to think about.

Dean’s new toy is pretty enough, Sam can admit that. And funny. And certainly twisted enough to be a Winchester.

But he pulls Dean’s attention away from Sam. He widens those too-blue eyes, bites those luscious lips, and Dean fucks him into submission, has him writhing and begging, whispers things to him that used to be Sam’s alone.

Dad tells him the shiny newness will wear off soon and Dean will break his pet, will leave his body somewhere for the buzzards to feast on. Mom says that Dean will always be his no matter how many new folk come and go.

But it’s not enough for Sam. And after Dean and his fucktoy go on a hunt without Sam, he waits for them to get back. He grabs his replacement and slams him against the wall, smirking as those eyes widen and those lips part. Dean watches, excitement clear across the room. “You want a turn, Sammy?” Dean asks.

Sam says nothing, but he leans in close and snarls, “Dean’s mine,” right into Tommy’s ear.

Tommy actually manages a gasping chuckle. “Dude, I know that.”

That causes Sam to pause. He blinks down at Tommy, canting his head. Tommy’s insanely pretty, almost as beautiful as Dean. And since Dean looks magnificent covered in blood, it stands to reason that Tommy will, too.

Sam leans back in, nipping at Tommy’s neck.

“Don’t break him,” is all Dean says. Sam makes no promises, but maybe Tommy’ll be fun to keep around, after all.


End file.
